The year was 1959. General Dwight D. Eisenhower, a true American hero, was completing his second term as President of the United States. His presidency presided over the ending of the "Korean Conflict" and the building of the country's interstate highway system. Americans were inspired by his leadership and believed in the American Dream as a reality that could be theirs. He was a Republican and he was admired for creating jobs and ending unnecessary wars. He was the last of a breed!

Anthony Benedetto was a third generation Italian American whose parents knew the benefits of hard work and the emotional drain of the Great Depression. To Anthony the values of his proud and caring parents could not explain the actions of the three boys who yelled to him as he walked home from his neighborhood school in South Boston. "There he is, that guinea that beat up my little brother. Let's get him!" At 11 years old Anthony had no idea what the boy was yelling about. He didn't know his accuser, never mind his "little brother," but he knew that he had to run as they crossed the street in pursuit. He had heard words like `guinea' and `wop' to describe his Italian heritage before, but he didn't understand why they would want to hurt him.

Although smaller than his seemingly barbaric pursuers, screaming out profanities as they chased after him, Tony was very fast. He bolted through the streets stretching the four blocks to his triple-decker home. As he turned the corner of the final block at Douglas Street, Tony felt a swift and jarring yank backwards bringing his mad dash to a sudden and painful halt. The tall lanky boy who had been leading the charge grasped him with brutal force, glaring at Tony with a mischievous smile and fire in his eyes.

"You little guinea bastard ... thought you could outrun us."

The first blow came to his stomach as the tall one held back his arms. He gasped as the air in his lungs escaped and the pain of the next punch from the third angry pursuer crushed his nose, the warm blood gushing from his face. Another blow to his head and he was on the ground feeling the boots of his aggressors. "How's that feel meatball?"

He heard someone, a woman, screaming at them, "Leave him alone, or I'll call the cops."

"Let's get out of here," ordered their `brave' leader, as they ran laughing like wild hyenas.

Tony's grandparents came to America during the first decade of the 20th Century seeking to better their lives and escape the poverty of their respective villages and cities. They soon realized that their dreams were shared by many, each bringing their strange and intimidating languages and customs to their newly adopted country. For many the opportunities would be a test of the survival of the fittest bringing Darwin's evolutionary theory to a very personal level.

Competition for jobs would pit ethnically diverse people in a struggle to better their lot and improve the lives of their families. The challenge was not fully realized when they first boarded the ships that were to take them to the "promised land."

Tony's father, Richie Benedetto, was born in the America in 1915. He left school during the Great Depression finding work in the government's CCC camps, planting trees on Cape Cod. He wanted to help his mother support her nine children after her husband had abandoned his family to pursue his own dreams of wealth in the mid-west.

Richie Benedetto, was a hard working guy who thought of working overtime as a bonus. He, like many of his generation, wanted only to provide a good life for his family. His wife Claudia believed that her three children were the purpose of her life and anyone in need was worthy of her efforts.

"Are you ok, Tony?" the familiar voice was Mrs. Hurley, a neighbor and friend of his mother's. She was armed with a broom handle. "Come inside and let me clean you up, your mother will have a conniption if she sees you like this." He didn't know what a "conniption" was but he didn't want his mom to see him like that. Mrs. Hurley washed his face, put a bag of ice on his nose and let him catch his breath.

"I think you need to go to the hospital. It looks like your nose is broken. Is your father home?"

"I don't think so," Tony said in a voice that was more nasal than vocal.

"Well we had better get you home. Your mother will be worried."

His mother was visibly upset and couldn't understand why he would be beaten up by three older kids that Tony didn't know. She put a fresh bag of ice on his nose and told him not to lie down. "The blood will rush to your head and it won't stop bleeding!"

"They're those fresh Irish kids from H Street, they like to beat up smaller kids especially Italians and Lithuanians," explained Mrs. Hurley.

"Richie won't be home until after midnight. He's working the three to eleven shift this week. I told him that we shouldn't move here. The Irish and Italians don't get along. We were better off in East Boston where there are mostly Italians."

"Well that's not true of all Irish. John and I are Irish and we are all friends in this neighborhood, aren't we?" said Mrs. Hurley.

"Yes, but why did they do this? Richie is going to be upset and he'll want to go see their parents and tell them off. You know that he has a hot temper," worried his mom.

Tony's mother knew her husband had his own troubles in Southie. He grew up in this part of the City. He knew the perils and the benefits when he decided to live back here. He loved the area, and wanted to raise his kids here. It was near one of the city's few beaches. It had parks and open spaces that made it feel like a suburb and it was closer to his work, a chocolate factory in Dorchester.

He recently experienced first-hand that not much had changed since his childhood. He had an encounter with the Irish tenant that he inherited when he bought this three-decker the previous year. The guy was a drunk and like so many alcoholics he took out his rage on his family. You could hear his loud, angry voice through the ceiling and the furniture crashing as he chased his wife in a drunken rage, beating her and sometimes his children.

One night the abused wife came to the Benedetto's door, bruised and crying trying to get away from her liquored up husband. Tony's father had her come into the sanctuary of their small four-room apartment and blocked the pursuing husband, hand on his chest. Tony's mom tended to her bruises and tried to console her as his father attempted to restrain the tall grizzly and highly intoxicated Irishman.

Tony stood behind his dad as the big red-haired, ruddy-nosed tormenter smacked his father's hand down and took a swing at him. He missed, but his dad didn't, knocking him down the stairs from their second floor apartment with a perfect uppercut to the jaw. His mom called the cops, who were quite familiar with the abusive guy. They took him to Police Station # 6 on West Broadway for a night of peace and tranquility.

The next night the big jerk lay in wait for Richie in an alley up the street from their home. He jumped him, only to find the previous night's result repeated. This time Richie broke his jaw. Although Tony's father had a hot temper, he had a sense of justice that guided his life. Once his antagonist was down he wouldn't continue his punishment.

Tony's father had only an eighth grade education, but was well-read and intelligent beyond his limited academic credentials. He was tough but he was also very creative. He was an excellent...